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Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
15 Thou as a gallant bark from Albion's coast,

(The storms all weathered, and the ocean crossed,)
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,

There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 20 Her beauteous form reflected clear below,

While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore,

“Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar, 25 And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide

Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed-

Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, 30 Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,

And day by day some current's thwarting force,
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet, О the thought, that thou art safe, and he!

That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 35 My boast is not, that I deduce my birth

From loins enthroned, and rulers of the Earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents, passed into the skies.


Extract from " The Grave.”-MONTGOMERY.
1 There is a calm for those who weep;

A rest for weary pilgrims found:
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground!

2 The storm that wrecks the winter sky,

No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer-evening's latest sigh,

That shuts the rose.

3 I long to lay this painful bead,

And aching heart, beneath the soil;
To slumber in that dreamless bed,

From all my toil.

4 Art thou a wanderer?--hast thou seen

O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark?
A shipwrecked sufferer hast thou been,

Misfortune's mark?

5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,

Condemned in wrctchedness to roam,
Live! thou shalt reach a sheltering port,

A quiet home!
6 There is a calm for those who weep!

A rest for weary pilgrims found:
And while the mouldering ashes sleep

Low in the ground;-
7 The soul, of origin Divine,

God's glorious image, freed from clay,
In Heaven's eternal sphere shall shine

A star of day!
The sun, is but a spark of fire,

A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its Sire,

Shall never die!


Defence of Johnson.—CURRAN. Even if it should be my client's fate to be surrendered to his keepers to be torn from his family—to have his obsequies performed by torch light to be carried

to a foreign land, and to a strange tribunal, where no 5 witness can attest his innocence, where no voice that

he ever heard can be raised in his defence, where he must stand mute, not of his own malice, but the malice of his enemies—yes, even so, I see nothing for him to fear;

—that all-gracious Being, that shields the feeble from the 10 oppressor, will fill his heart with hope, and confidence,

and courage; his sufferings will be his armour, and his weakness will be his strength. He will find himself in the hands of a brave, a just, and a generous nation-he

will find that the bright examples of her Russels and 15 her Sydneys have not been lost to her children. They


will behold him with sympathy and respect, and his persecutors with shame and abhorrence; they will feel too, that what is then his situation, may to-morrow

be their own-but their first tear will be shed for him, 20 and the second only for themselves. Their hearts will

melt in his acquittal; they will convey him kindly and fondly to their shore; and he will return in triumph to his country; to the threshold of his sacred home, and to

the weeping welcome of his delighted family. He will 25 find that the darkness of a dreary and a lingering night

hath at length passed away, and that joy cometh in the morning.-No, my lords, I have no fear for the ultimate safety of my client. Even in these very acts of brutal

violence that have been committed against him, do I 30 hail the flattering hope of final advantage to him—and

not only of final advantage to him, but of better days and inore prosperous fortune for this afflicted countrythat country of which I have so often abandoned all hope

and which I have been so often determined to quit for35 ever.

I have repented—I have staid—and I am at once rebuked and rewarded by the happier hopes that I now entertain. In the anxious sympathy of the public-in

the anxious sympathy of my learned brethren, do I catch 40 the happy presage of a brighter fate for Ireland. They

see, that within these sacred walls, the cause of liberty and of man may be pleaded with boldness and heard with favor. I am satisfied they will never forget the

great trust, of which they alone are now the remaining 45 depositaries. While they continue to cultivate a sound

philosophy-a mild and tolerating Christianity-and to make both the sources of a just and liberal, and constitutional jurisprudence, I see every thing for us to hope;

into their hands, therefore, with the most affectionate 50 confidence in their virtue, do I commit these precious

hopes. Even I may live long enough yet to see the approaching completion, if not the perfect accomplishment of them. Pleased shall I then resign the scene to

fitter actors pleased shall I lay down my wearied head 55 to rest, and say, “ Lord, now lettest thou thy servant de

part in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."




Taking of Warsaw.-CAMPBELL. When leagued Oppression poured to northern wars Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars, Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn; Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man!

Warsaw's last champion, from her height surveyed, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, (9) Oh! Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save; Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Rise, fellow men! our country yet remains! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live!_with her to die!

3 (.) He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed

His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed!
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death,—the watchword and reply;
(<) Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!

4 (-) In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!

From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew:-
Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo!
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career!-
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell.

5 The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there,

Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air-
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murm'ring far below;

The storm prevails, the ramparts yield away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay;
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call!
Earth shook-red meteors flashed along the sky,

And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry! 6 Departed spirits of the mighty dead!

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Samartia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell—the Bruce of Bannockburn!


Lord Chatham.—BUTLER Of those, by whom Lord North was preceded, none, probably, except Lord Chatham, will be remembered by posterity; but the nature of the eloquence of

this extraordinary man, it is extremely difficult to de5 scribe.

No person in his external appearance was ever more bountifully gifted by nature for an orator. In his look and his gesture, grace and dignity were combined, but

dignity presided; the “terrors of his beak, the light10 nings of his eye, were insufferable. His voice was both

full and clear; his lowest whisper was distinctly heard, his middle tones'were sweet, rich, and beautifully varied; when he elevated his voice to its highest pitch, the

house was completely filled with the volume of the 15 sound. The effect was awful, except when he wished

to cheer or animate; he then had spirit-stirring notes, which were perfectly irresistible. He frequently rose, on a sudden, from a very low to a very high key, but it

seemed to be without effort. His diction was remark20 ably simple, but words were never chosen with greater

care; he mentioned to a friend that he had perused. some of Dr. Barrow's Sermons so often as to know them by heart.

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